Doubts
by rach1803
Summary: Because even the King of England makes mistakes.
1. Chapter 1

**Okay so here is a little idea I had. **

**Hope its okay!**

**Let me know in a review :-P**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Tudors.**

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He paced his chambers. Nearly time. It had been delayed for long enough, an extra day. An extra day for her to live. For her to breathe. For his life to stop, he couldn't move forward until this was done.

Until she was dead.

Her who had bewitched him to the point of insanity. Her who had become his obsession. She who was a witch. That's what they said, the witch who had charmed the kings heart away from his true wife, his faith. They had said it at the time, yet he could not listen, he heard nothing over her laugh and her false promises.

He glanced at the clock, nearly time. He put his head in his hands; her laugh rang through his mind. That laugh, it made his heart warm. Her smile like sunlight breaking the dawn, her eyes, deep orbs that captivated his own. Her skin, soft and smooth beneath his hands as he held hers. Presenting her to the world as his own heart, his Queen. Her sweet lips whose feel he would never tire of. The ones that ignited the flame in his heart, the blood in his veins burned for her. All for her.

Henry shook himself. What was this? Even as she was about to die she still held his mind in her hands. She still haunted him. His feelings were not real, he reminded himself. They were the workings of a witch. A harlot. A whore. A dead woman.

He closed his eyes, but he still saw her, dancing in front of him at the French court. Every move bewitching. She was so graceful, so beautiful. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to remove her from his mind. He remembered how she used to do that. How she wold whisper softly in his ear of the sons she would bear him, of the heirs_ he_ would have. He had believed her completely, given everything away for her. Torn the country apart, thrown away his ever faithful wife, executed his best friend for not supporting them, and pushed out the pearl of his world, sending her away. She had lied and betrayed him in every way, to wear a crown, to sit in a throne, to share his bed. She was evil, she was scheming. Henry yelled out in anger. She had made him angry.

Yet…Why could he not tear his thoughts from her? Why did his heart beat so quickly at the thought of her?

He shook his head and stood in anger. No. The only reason he thought of her was because she had used him, he was upset, he was angry. He did not love her, those feelings were not real. He loved Jane.

Jane.

His sweet, sweet Jane. His light, his everything. He smiled, then stopped as a dark haired beauty crept into his mind. Her eyes shining, she was not sweet, no, she was the opposite. She was danger, she was fire, she was passion. She made his heart stir, even as a memory. She made his blood pound and he hated her for it. Or, he tried to. He tore his thoughts back to the blond, who still stood in his head smiling slightly, stood quietly, obediently…_meekly_.

His Jane, the sweet, sweet Jane Seymour. Too sweet, like honey, he was drowning in honey. The light of his world, too bright, she blinded him. It seemed unnecessary to need extra light in the presence of the sun. Seemed almost trivial. But she was obedient. That was good, that was supposed to be good. She had never been obedient; it had infuriated him, lead to bitter arguments and hateful words. But then…the arguments had been passionate, he missed that passion, she was still beautiful when she had argued, she was clever, he loved that. The arguments showed their differences, but when they made up, thy showed how they were the same. Compatible completely. Together. As one.

Obedience was boring.

He wanted his fire, his burning flame. The one that had led him for so long, the one that had changed everything. Given him control. The one that had warmed his heart as well as his bed.

The clock chimed as it struck the hour.

He stopped staring at it. It was done. He knew it.

He couldn't undo it know.

His fire was gone.

Burnt out.

Forever.

He shook himself firmly, he did not want her. It was merely the last stages of her witchcraft. He could not want her. After everything he could not love her. He shook himself firmly and went to find his sweet, sweet Jane.

The King of England could not have doubts.

Never.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey!**

**So this was originally going to just be a Oneshot but I decided to extend it a bit so it will probably end up as a few chapters.**

**thanks for the response on the last chapter really appreciate it :-D**

**please R&R!**

**Disclaimer****: I do not own the Tudors.**

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The clock chimed throughout Whitehall, as it had before. The King of England opened his eyes slowly, dragging himself from the dream that had both tempted and haunted him. The memory of long ago and the future that could never be.

Henry groaned slightly as he rose from the bed, his leg sore as always, a physical reminder of the pain in his heart. A reminder of her.

It had been four years, four years and for a second she had never left his mind. Never speaking, for he had cut he neck, but she was just smiling slightly in his mind, sometimes taunting, sometimes accusing, sometimes in love. Always in love, yes, she had always loved him.

And in return, he had destroyed her.

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"_Your Majesty I beseech you!"_

Henry shuddered at the memory, a broken mother cradling her child.

Elizabeth.

His beautiful daughter, his own heart. She was everything he could wish for in a daughter, she was beautiful, charming, and intelligent. A perfect ruler and heir, except she was not a boy, not like his Edward. But she was strong. She was like a fire. She was like her mother.

Henry's mind cast back, back to the events of the day. Today he had introduced his new wife to his children, Katherine Howard. A beauty indeed, young of course, she was what was required in a wife. But was she a queen? Henry was unsure; she was not as elegant nor as regal as her predecessors. She did not have the kind heart of Catherine of Aragon, whom although was a great a wife any man could ask for, could never have been his. Nor did she have the maturity or graces of Jane, Jane who had given him so much and lost everything in return. Nor did she have the humour nor had the characteristics of Anne of Cleves, who despite their short and disastrous marriage, had kept in his graces, been amicable and willing in the divorce, thus becoming his beloved sister.

Nor did she have the beauty, the mystery nor the passion of her.

Anne Boleyn.

Despite them being related Henry could see no link between the two, Anne had been beautiful, elegant, passionate and fiery, she had a temper but a well-spoken tongue, she had been loving always to him even when he had been cold. No, Katherine Howard could never be those things, she was a child, and Anne had been a woman.

But there was someone who shadowed the fallen Queen.

Elizabeth.

His daughter, _their_ daughter. Henry remembered to only mere hours ago, he watched her in his mind. She walked in slowly, elegantly.

"Welcome Elizabeth." He had said, taking her pale hand. He introduced her to the new Queen stood before them. They exchanged greetings and the Lady was presented with a gift. Then Elizabeth was set to leave, that was when she had bowed.

Slowly, head lowered a smile on her lips. She had bowed and in Henry's eyes she disappeared for a moment, her red hair replaced by dark, her pale skin became more olive, her eyes however didn't change. They were still hooks for the soul.

In that instant Henry realised he was no longer seeing his daughter, he was seeing Anne.

Elizabeth turned away, leaving the room.

With no idea of the effect she had had on her father.

Who stared after her, lost and haunted.

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Henry put his head in his hands unable to shake the memory from his mind. All he could see now when he looked at his daughter was her. He hated it and loved it, for it was a reminder of what he had done and what he had lost, but it also showed him that she was still alive in her own heart. Her sweet girl.

Henry could not shake from her from his mind, he could not even spend the night with his wife, and it felt wrong so he had retired alone physically but not mentally. She was with him;

He could not get rid of her. He knew why.

He still loved her.

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**Until the next time!**

**Rach **


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